Tue Dec 22, 2015

Part of my holiday planning is mapping out what I'm going to bring to three different potlucks that happen annually between Christmas in New Years. Being at my in-laws in Texas without a smoker has forced my hand to look towards braised meats and baked pastas in the past, but I've helped remedy that situation by somewhat-selfishly gifting my brother-in-law with a kamado cooker as a housewarming gift, which is now ready for use. While I've loved all the chilis, barbacoas, and lasagnas I've made, I'm finally opened to explore my true calling and great pot luck fare—barbecue. In testing the waters for what might make a suitable dish, I tried out a few racks of pork ribs finished with a golden South Carolina-style mustard sauce.

Tue Sep 1, 2015

Ever since taking up competition barbecue, I've become obsessed with finding a way to make the most consistently perfect slow-smoked pork ribs that can elicit awards from faceless judges. In the process, my rib method has grown to include all sorts of meticulous steps, like wrapping the ribs in foil at just the right time, adding a braising liquid to get them perfectly tender, and monitoring the temperature more closely than doctors keeping tabs on patient's vitals in the ICU.

The resulting competition ribs have earned me a few trophies, but they're honestly not the kind I love most. You see, I'd rather use a simpler method and push the flavor with additional spices and heat, but that can be risky in a competition setting, since I don't want to take that chance on judges with sensitive palates.

So at the beginning of last summer, I decided it was time to get back to my barbecue roots and smoke up some racks of ribs using a less intensive method, instead focusing on hitting those bolder flavors that can make barbecue so incredible. Of course, going with my standard sauce and rub would have been a little too easy on me, so I came up with a new apricot barbecue sauce and complementary rub to make these glistening beauties extra special.

Tue Jun 2, 2015

Back in the day, I'd call pretty much any rib I didn't slather with sauce, "dry ribs." Not only were they indeed dry, but they looked and tasted like the dry ribs I've always been served at restaurants. It wasn't until I had some excellent dry ribs at Peg Leg Porker, down in Nashville, that I understood just what I'd been missing. So I got to talking to pitmaster Carey Bringle about what sets his ribs apart from the crowd.

Tue Mar 10, 2015

It's very likely my first pork rib was at a Chinese restaurant. Growing up in the suburbs of D.C., barbecue was not prolific, but Chinese restaurants were, and boy did my family love going to them. A dinner out for Chinese meant one thing to me back then—pu pu platter. In a love for all things appetizers, which still persists today, the pu pu platter was like mecca. I got to have it all—beef skewers, fried wontons, egg rolls, and, of course, spare ribs. I became aquatinted with these sweet and sticky, sometimes tough, spare ribs at a young age, and my fondness for them has yet to cease. It only made sense that I learn to cook them myself so I could have great Chinese spare ribs all the time, especially since I'm stuck in the weird bad-Chinese-food vortex for Astoria, Queens, in a city otherwise known for excellent Chinese.

Tue Aug 26, 2014

Texas has bred in me a true appreciation for beef barbecue—it is my favorite type, but also the hardest for me to get right. While I love a great brisket, a perfect beef rib is even better with its super beefy flavor, luscious soft fat, and blackened peppery crust. Stick me in Louie Mueller and tell me I can only order one item, and I'm going for that damn beef rib, it's just so good. I've been in a constant state of trying to find a path to transcendent beef ribs like that using my Weber bullet, which looks like a cute little play thing compared to those giant Texas tanks. I can't say these ribs are there yet, but this represents a big step up from past attempts.